


Halloween

by ManagingMischief



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 08:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManagingMischief/pseuds/ManagingMischief
Summary: Halloween 1981.Then he heard it, the creak of the front gate opening and he pushed her away from him reluctantly, with an urgency that appeared so suddenly, towards the stairs. “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off —"





	Halloween

James grinned as he threw Harry into the air once more, the resulting babyish giggle making his heart fucking melt once again. He was turning into a right sap, embarrassing really, how much he loved this tiny human being. How he could spend hours just watching him, listening to him, wondering how he’d managed to get so lucky. How he’d managed to create this baby that _needed_ him.  


“…you’re going to make him sick if you carry on.” he turned at the familiar voice, the fond amusement betraying her stern words as his eyes caught sight of his wife in the living room doorway. “I’m certainly not going to be the one getting up with him when he’s sick in the night.”

James snorted, tossing Harry into the air once more, as he shook his head. “Did you hear that Squirt? Your mum doesn’t wanna wake up for you…don’t worry kiddo, I’ll make sure to report this neglect.”

He paused, pressing a kiss to the chubby cheeks before placing him on the ground as he shot a wink towards his wife. “…you’re the one who was force feeding him chocolate frogs Lil,” he shrugged. “Reckon I need to get myself some legal representation at the blame placing taking place in this marriage.”

“ _Two_ chocolate frogs James…and I wouldn’t exactly call it force feeding.” she shook her head, arms crossing over her chest and James couldn’t help how his eyes lingered on her form.

But fuck…she was _beautiful_.

Even now. Exhausted as she was, her face free from makeup, hair loose around her face, the evidence of sticky little boy fingers amongst the familiar fiery strands. She looked even more beautiful than she ever had. There was a light in her eyes, a glow he couldn’t explain and didn’t _want_ to. Explaining it would mean she was _capable_ of being described, that she was someone who fit the mould that words would push her into.

She didn’t.

She didn’t fit _any_ mould. She was one of kind. Made for James as he was made for her. She was bloody _perfect_ and that’s about the only word he’d agree to be used to describe her.

Perfect because she wasn’t. Perfect because she woke up with bed head and couldn’t say a word until she’d had a cup of coffee. Perfect because she was stubborn as hell, because she’d hold a grudge even when she couldn’t remember why she was mad anymore. She was perfect because of her flaws, not in spite of them and James had never been able to say that about anyone in his life. 

“Don’t pout Lil…” he murmured, advancing on her slowly, a teasing predatory gleam in his eyes. “Besides the fact it’s technically a holiday and frankly bloody _illegal_ to be pouting…” he paused, arms wrapping around her waist. “…besides _all_ of that, you know what it does to me.”

He pulled her towards him, her body flush against his own. A perfect fit, moulding against him like the missing puzzle piece fate had been so kind to provide them with. His breath was hot against her lips as he dipped his head, kissing her easily. Slow and deep. _Familiar_. As though they had all the time in the world. Forever really. However long forever was going to be.

James could kiss her forever, could continue to lose himself in the feel of their lips moving together, her arms around his neck, nimble fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He could spend forever memorising her taste, drinking her in, because it would never be enough. There would never be enough of her. He would never be done.

Unfortunately, little hands were finding their way to the hem of his trousers, an indignant squeal indicating that Harry, like his dad, didn’t appreciate not being the centre of attention. So he laughed, pulling back with one final press of their lips, glancing from the two of them fondly.

“…Happy Halloween Mrs Potter”

She laughed, tilting her head back, her eyes bright with amusement and James knew what she was thinking. He knew in the fond roll of her eyes that she hated the corniness but loved it at the same time. 

“Happy Halloween Mr Potter.” she murmured, leaning in to press another brief kiss to his lips before she shook her head and pulled away. “Now go and put our baby to bed before you get too carried away.” 

He laughed as he picked up their son and walked up the stairs, marvelling at the way he felt for just a second. It wasn’t ideal, none of it was. But they’d tried to make Halloween as special and normal as they could. They’d tried to make traditions, tried to be as normal a family as possible and it had fucking worked. He felt lighter, free in a way he hadn’t felt for months cooped up in the house like they were. 

“Sorry Squirt, looks like big bad mummy has decided it’s bedtime.” James announced to the baby in his arms, pulling a face at his son as he placed him into his cot. “Don’t look at me like that kid, remember who lets you have second helpings of those bananas. _No_ …not Uncle Pads, _me_ …your _deer_ old dad.”  


He grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, before charming the lights above his cot to move. He watched for a few minutes, leaning against the cot, as Harry sleepily reached for the balls of light, eyes fighting sleep as his face lit up with glee. James had never imagined loving _anything_ this much. Not like this. But the second those emerald eyes had met his, James had been _smitten_. He figured maybe he’d been programmed to fall in love with emerald eyes. He’d been smitten with their counterpart since he was eleven after all.

Finally, making his way downstairs, he stood in the doorway to the living room, watching his wife with a fond smile. Long, red hair, falling in soft waves down her back. James wondered everyday how he’d gotten that lucky, how he was allowed to love her. He wasn’t going to question it however. that would be bloody  _stupid_.

He laid his wand on the table, sneaking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She jumped as though she hadn’t been expecting it, and he laughed breath tickling her ear as he hummed against it, swaying them lightly as they laughed. It was a normal night, a night filled with _warmth_ and _laughter._   A night where they’d go to bed and make love with one another _just in case_ it was the last night, just in case tomorrow was the day they’d say goodbye.

James let go of her, grasping her hand instead as he spun her around in an extravagant show of none existent dance moves. He was just about to pull her towards him, about to kiss her firmly when he _felt_ it. 

A cold shiver ran through him, something was different. The warm bubble of safety he’d felt since they’d performed the secret keeper spell seemed to have disappeared, the night seemed darker somehow, colder even, and James knew immediately that this was it.

 _How apt that it was halloween_.

Peter.

 _Peter_ had betrayed them. Except _no_. He _wouldn’t_. Peter would _never_ betray them and James would never believe otherwise. He must have been forced, tortured to within an inch of his life and James felt sick to his stomach at the horror his friend must have gone through. He would _never_ believe that his mate would go to Voldemort willingly. It wasn’t a possibility.

His breath hitched as he tugged Lily towards him, lips capturing hers in a kiss. One hand cupped the side of her face, thumb stroking lightly as he tried to commit her to memory. He didn’t _need_ to. He already knew everything there was to know about Lily Potter. But as he pulled back, eyes meeting hers, he knew that this was possibly the last time he was going to see her. This was the last time he was going to see those emerald eyes staring back at him with love he’d worked for years to be worthy of.

“I love you.” he murmured reverently, leaning in once more to press his lips against hers. “Until the very end.” 

Then he heard it, the creak of the front gate opening and he pushed her away from him reluctantly, with an urgency that appeared so suddenly, towards the stairs. “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off —”

He didn’t think twice about it. He didn’t watch her run up the stairs to their son. He couldn’t bear to watch her go, he’d had his moment. He’d seen those eyes staring back at him. He didn’t want the last time he saw her to be the sight of her back. _Running_. Scared and _desperate_. James was not going to remember his wife that way.

He watched the light in the keyhole, his chest heaving as his eyes focused on the door knob turning, as though in slow motion. He’d _never_ been so terrified in all of his life and yet if he could prolong this moment, as awful as it was. He would. Because it was one more moment he would get to _live_. One more moment where he’d be James Potter, husband and father. James Potter with the best friends and the happy, idyllic life. James Potter who was only _21_ and had his _entire life_ ahead of him. He would take one more moment of being those things, even if that moment was filled with a deep, _all consuming fear_. He would take that moment if it meant he could delay his death.

He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be the Gryffindor he was meant to be. He wanted to give Lily as much time as he could. And yet he wanted to run up those stairs with her, he wanted to hold his wife and son and know that they were going to be alright because they’d be _together_. His legs twitched, the urge to turn and run was strong, his breathing shallow as the door began to open. 

 _This was it._

This was the moment he was going to die and he took a breath, trying to steel himself for the inevitable, for the end of a life he thought he had so much more of.

He heard a cry from upstairs, and tears sprung to his eyes as he resisted the urge to turn and look. That was his son, his _boy_. He was never going to see him again. He was never going to watch him turn into a person. Someone else was going to be called dad. Someone else was going to teach him to fly, to read, to count. Someone else was going to kiss away tears and heal skinned knees. Someone who wasn’t him was going to do and feel all the things that _should_ _have been James_. Someone else was going to be the proud father of James’ boy. Someone else was going to _love him_ the way James wanted to forever.

And if the unimaginable happened. If Lily didn’t survive this. If Harry was the sole survivor. Then  _someone else_ was going to do the job of two.

 _Sirius_.

Sirius was going to do those things. Sirius was going to teach Harry what it meant to be a man. Sirius was going to panic when he had to deal with a tantrum. Sirius was going to call Uncle Moony for desperate help at 9pm when a screaming toddler wouldn’t go to bed. His _best friends_ were going to show his son what love and loyalty meant. His best friends were going to make sure that Harry _always_ knew how much he was loved, how much his parents wanted to be with him. They were going to teach his boy that love didn’t stop with a final breath, that James would love Harry through all the odds.

James was going to _live_. Through _them_.

His lips spread into a final smile at the thought of them. Trembling hands reaching into his pocket to pull out his wand. Only there was no wand. The one chance at possible survival was lying on the living room table and as James looked with wide eyes into the face of Voldemort, he knew for sure he was going to die.

 _He wasn’t ready_. 

He was sure there would be stories of how he stood tall and prepared to die. But nobody would talk about the way his hands trembled, nobody would talk about the man who was barely a man standing _alone_ to face death. James Potter had spent his life _surrounded_ by people. He’d drawn from their strength, _thrived_ under their love and attention and given plentiful in return.

At the end, as he met those eyes filled with cruelty and glee.

 _James Potter was alone_.

He watched as the monster in front of him raised his wand. His eyes firmly on their red counterparts in front of him as he thought of his wife. He could smell flowers, hear a loud giggle, feel a smack to the back of his head and a smaller hand slipping into his.

His eyes roamed over Voldemort’s lips as he mouthed the words James had never heard before. But all James saw was a flash of red hair and a bright, wide smile. James saw a vision in white walking down the aisle, James saw a mop of dark hair in a crib. Voldemort finished the spell, the light leaving the tip of his wand. But James didn’t see that. James saw four animals running through a forrest.

A stag. A wolf. A Dog and a Rat.

In the last moments of his life. _James Potter was not alone_.

A flash of green.

And then nothing.

_James Potter fell like a Marionette whose strings had been cut._


End file.
